Category: My wacky life

The Scale, the Dog, and the Skinny Prince

The passenger Prince complained this morning that he cannot lose half a pound. He was lucky I did not throw a shoe at him. Passenger Prince is a six-foot-two man who weighs 165 pounds — and that is only if the dog puts her paw on the scale when he stands on it.

And me: a five-foot-nothing post menopausal woman, on Wegovy, who does Pilates four times a week, exercises and takes 10,000 steps a day. After losing 45 pounds in a year and a half, I still weigh the same as I did the day I had my last baby.

Technically I can tell people that it’s still pregnancy weight — except the baby is twenty-five with a job and a 401(k). But who would want to argue with a postmenopausal woman?

Having a skinny, tall husband is not great for self-esteem, especially at my age. Before the Wegovy, hearing him complain about his weight was not easy. Luckily for him, I lost my hearing and could tune him out when he complained.

I weigh less than him now after 18 months of injections and lots of Pilates and gym visits. But alas — it is what it is: him being a skinny, tall man, and me being a curvy, petite woman. And yes there is a shoe in one hand, ready to be thrown.

Bruised, Busy and Still Standing

I took a day off from everything today. Well, almost everything.

Yesterday my day was hectic. I woke up at 6:30am — walked the dog, dropped the Passenger Prince at his doctor’s appointment, ran to get my blood test, ran back to pick up the Passenger Prince from his doctor’s appointment, and drove him to work.

All this before 9am and before my coffee.
All this after I got bitten by a dog on my morning walk, all this with a big nasty bruise on my non–model-worthy leg.

A lady with a new dog approached us this morning and told us how friendly her dog was and let it get closer to us. Turns out her dog was not so friendly, and my Airedale decided to protect me. I ended up between the dogs — and I got hurt.

I called my mom on my drive from dropping the prince at work. I was told to put a cabbage leaf on my leg. Sadly, the only cabbage we had was already in the soup, and there were no extra leaves around for my leg.

My long day continued with going to work. At work I Scotch-taped an ice pack to my swollen leg and got home past 9pm.
Dog walk again, shower, and two painkillers later — I was dead asleep.

So today, I took the day off from everything. Well, almost everything. I still woke up, took the dog on a walk, drove the prince to work, and did laundry.
My leg has all sorts of rainbow colors now, and apparently my non-existent leg modeling career is over.

So yes, I took the day off — if you ignore the walking, driving, and laundry. My leg is now a masterpiece of purples and greens, and my modeling career is officially over before it began. Maybe tomorrow I’ll rest for real… or maybe I’ll just buy a cabbage. 🥬

When My Husband Asked: What’s Wrong with Gluten?

I was asked the most bizarre question today by the Passenger Prince.
He asked me, “What’s the problem with gluten?”

In a regular household, this question might not seem strange. But in our house—where three of us have Celiac disease—it was downright shocking.

I, the Passenger Prince’s wife, was diagnosed when I was thirty-nine, almost twenty years ago. Two out of our three kids received the lovely Celiac gene as well.

I was driving the Prince to work when he asked me this question, and I almost stopped the car in astonishment.

The man saw what I went through before I was diagnosed. He saw our daughter’s health deteriorate until she was a shadow of herself. And yet, he still asked that question.

After I collected myself for a mini second, I asked him where this was coming from. Apparently, Dr. Google had suggested that going gluten-free could help with seizures.

As much as I appreciate Dr. Google’s extensive medical training, I told him he should talk to a neurologist—or at least a nutritionist.

I’ve been gluten-free for many, many years now. But every once in a while, I miss a normal-sized slice of bread, good pasta, and the freedom of eating anywhere without reading labels or worrying about cross-contamination. I still get excited when I discover new gluten-free pizza options at Costco.

So back to his “silly” question: Gluten is great—very tasty, even. But for us Celiacs, gluten is the enemy and even after twenty years gluten-free, the learning never ends — especially in our house.

How to Shower Wrong: A Tired Person’s Guide

Or Waterproof? Asking for My Hearing Aids.

The unthinkable happened this weekend — I forgot to take my hearing aids off before getting into the shower. First time ever in five years that this has happened to me.

Hearing aids are expensive. These were my first pair, the ones I got when I first lost my hearing, and they were very expensive. Back then, we had great insurance that covered the full cost of a top-of-the-line pair. That was several insurance companies ago.

Ever since then, I’ve dreaded getting them wet or breaking them. They’re my lifeline. Usually, the first thing I do before stepping into the shower is touch my ears to make sure they’re out.

But today, I forgot.

I was tired — I hadn’t been sleeping well for the last couple of nights. The Passenger Prince had to do a 72-hour at-home EEG study, which meant a camera was set up on him at night. The camera had night vision, and that little light kept waking me up. I like complete darkness when I sleep. I thought about crashing in my home office but decided against it for the sake of comfort. Comfort that completely escaped me this weekend.

My Passenger Prince, who on a normal day would enjoy me running out of the shower naked, was not thrilled with my sprint this time. As soon as I noticed my aids still in my ears, I bolted out of the shower to dry them off — dripping water all over the bathroom and the laminate floor in our bathroom.

Maybe tonight I’ll finally sleep.

So we joined a committee…

We joined a committee today — a very interesting one: a committee of Turkey Vultures.

On my way to the Passenger Prince’s work, there’s a huge group of Turkey Vultures that like to sun their wings on the surrounding trees. I kept calling them a flock, but apparently, the proper term is a committee when they’re perched in trees.

I first noticed them when I started driving the Passenger Prince to work and asked if he had ever seen them. Apparently, he never had. It’s a big group of birds with an impressive wingspan — for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how he’d never noticed them before.

What I’ve learned from being his chauffeur is that we really do notice different things. Once, we were both looking at a new car that passed by and wondered if it might be electric. I looked for the power hookup area while he looked for the exhaust pipe. We laughed when we compared notes — we were both right, just using different methods.

Ever since then, the Passenger Prince and I have been very involved in this committee. We check which trees or buildings they’re perched on, how large the group is that morning, and how they seem to be doing.

It’s a conversation that, if you’d asked me years ago, I would have laughed at the idea of having. But just like our almost forty years together, our marriage and our conversations evolve — and apparently, we even join committees.

Life in the driver’s seat

One of my favorite radio personalities used to start his show by saying, “Today is better than most, but not as good as some.”
 Today was one of those not as good as some days.

We got the latest blood test results, and besides not getting the news we were hoping for, we didn’t get any answers about why the seizure happened in the first place. Instead, the results only led to more questions—and more anxiety. It feels like we’re not even close to understanding what’s really going on, let alone finding a solution.

The stress, anxiety, disappointment, and resulting anger definitely made themselves known. I tend to hide my anxiety better than my “passenger prince”—which probably explains my stress-induced autoimmune issues.

While the focus is on him, his treatment, and his recovery, I keep reminding myself that I need to take care of myself too.
My tears were well hidden behind my sunglasses and the need to keep my eyes on the road. He didn’t see—or maybe didn’t notice—my mood.

Life in the driver’s seat isn’t fun. There’s no GPS to route us to a fun destination. But just like the car I drive, maintenance is required—to keep both the vehicle and me running.

Is Pilates a Form of Torture? Maybe. But It’s My Stress Relief! 

I love Pilates and most of the instructors at my studio. But some days, a class feels like a game of Twister — a game that, if I were 20 years (or even ten) younger, might have felt easy.

These days, though, each class is a little harder. My body hurts. And yet I keep going, again and again, and accept the pain.

This morning’s Twister routine? One hand on the box, one hand on the reformer bar, one leg on the shoulder block, and the other leg in the air. It hurts just to describe it. Somehow, I managed to tackle all these instructions. Honestly, I was just grateful the instructor didn’t ask us to sing a song — that would’ve been the end of me.

After all that, she came over and corrected my posture for the next exercise. Apparently, my leg is capable of a 90-degree angle. She told me she did it out of “love.” Probably a love of pain.

And yet, I go three to four times a week and wonder: how bad would it be if I didn’t take Pilates?

Why do I do this to myself? Because it’s good for my body — even if I hate it sometimes — and it’s very good for my soul.

Two months ago, my husband had a seizure. Since then, my regular stress life has turned into full-blown stress — with no relief in sight. Stress relief, for me, means not thinking for a little while. But when you’re stressed, your mind races, and you can’t stop thinking.

Enter: Pilates.

I get so caught up in the Twister-like shenanigans during class that thinking becomes impossible. The only thing on my mind is: Is my balance working? Are all my body parts where they’re supposed to be?

I don’t care that I’m not wearing a cute matching Pilates outfit. All that matters in that class is stress relief.

I am stronger now — at least physically. Mentally, my brain is still trying to figure out all those crazy Pilates moves… without falling.

From a Passenger Princess to a Warrior Princess

I used to be a passenger princess—and I loved it. My husband did all the driving while I relaxed in the passenger seat, helping with directions, reading a book, or scrolling through social media.

We love road trips, and I probably enjoyed them more because I didn’t have to drive. But then, the seizure came. One moment, my handsome chauffeur was behind the wheel, and the next, I became the driver—and he, the passenger prince.

Let’s just say… he hasn’t adjusted to his new princely status very well. In fact, he’s still learning the etiquette of being a proper passenger prince.

The transition from being the driver (and occasional backseat driver) to sitting quietly in the passenger seat has been a tough one for him. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s asked, “Did you see that car?” or “Why are you taking this route instead of the other one?” and plenty more unsolicited driving commentary.

What’s funny is that for years, I drove the kids around while he never seemed to care how I drove. But now? Suddenly, I’m under review like I’m applying for a chauffeur’s license.

I try to respond with humor—most of the time. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally want to turn him into a frog.

This new role as the warrior princess behind the wheel doesn’t come with an expiration date. My patience, however, occasionally does.

Here’s hoping he gives me five stars on Yelp.

My Wegovy Journey: Weight Loss, Wellness, and Dancing at My Daughter’s Wedding

I’ve lost almost 45 pounds over the last eighteen months. My endocrinologist, gastroenterologist, and cardiologist all agreed that weight loss would be key to getting my health back on track. In fact, I had a prescription and insurance approval for eight months before I finally went to get it filled — and I’ve been on Wegovy ever since.

Being in your late fifties with autoimmune diseases, insulin resistance, and menopause is not easy. For years, I gained two pounds a month, no matter what I did. Yes, I’m active. I walk 10,500 steps a day, go to the gym, and take reformer Pilates classes. But it didn’t seem to matter — I couldn’t lose weight. I just kept gaining.

My husband always had suggestions: exercise more, eat fewer calories, try intermittent fasting. Trust me, I tried them all — and nothing worked. Lucky for him, he’s a six-foot-tall man who can shed weight easily. I, on the other hand, am a curvy, petite woman who’s had three kids.

I was worried about side effects from the medication — I tend to be very sensitive. But to my surprise and relief, Wegovy helped in unexpected ways. My IBS improved dramatically. I was less bloated, and the constant nausea I used to live with finally stopped. I no longer have to plan my day around knowing where every bathroom is. That, in itself, felt like a small miracle.

When someone asked me what my goal weight was, they were surprised by my answer. My goal wasn’t a number on the scale — it was about my cholesterol and blood sugar levels.

My life hasn’t changed drastically, but I’ve dropped two sizes. I bought a few new outfits, and now I fit better in my old clothes too. But perhaps the best moment? I danced all night at my daughter’s wedding — something I wouldn’t have been able to do a year and a half ago.

I feel better. I sleep better. And now, I’m waiting to see those blood test results come back in range — the final confirmation that I’m truly back on track.

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

Hearing is something most of us take for granted. We rarely pause to notice the sounds that surround us—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic, the laughter of children. Instead, we walk through life plugged into headphones, filling every moment with music, podcasts, or phone calls. We wear them when we walk, talk, commute, and definitely when we exercise.

This week, my youngest made crème brûlée. She’s been perfecting her recipes lately and this time offered dairy-free, vegan, and lactose-free options. In our household, that’s not just a nice gesture—it’s a necessity. We are a home full of celiacs, lactose-free lifestyles, and IBS sufferers. My children, poor things, didn’t need a genetic test to prove maternity—they inherited all my “fun” genes: the celiac gene, the IBS gene, and definitely the lactose intolerance gene.

But here’s the moment that gave me pause: as she torched the sugar on top of the crème brûlée, I heard it. The delicate, satisfying crackle of caramelizing sugar. That beautiful, subtle sound was only possible for me to enjoy because I had my hearing aids in. Without them, I’d have missed it entirely. That tiny moment of joy made me think about how much we miss when we don’t stop and really listen.

Take Charlie, our neighborhood squirrel. Charlie is something of a local character—and a sworn enemy of our dogs. (They’re terriers. It’s instinct.) Charlie, bold as ever, hisses at them from his perch on the tree. Every time he does it and I actually hear it, I can’t help but laugh. It’s such a strange, small sound—one I never noticed before hearing aids. But now I hear it, and every time I do, I’m delighted.

When I was younger, my mother used to warn me: “Don’t listen to music so loud—you’ll ruin your hearing!” I wish that was the reason I have hearing loss. But for me, it’s just part of the hand I was dealt.

I remember the day I got my first hearing aids. My audiologist looked at me and said, “Just a heads-up—the world is loud.” She wasn’t wrong. It is loud. But it’s also incredible. Hearing the world—even when it’s loud—is a gift.

So if you can hear the birds in the morning, the hiss of a squirrel, or the crackle of sugar on a homemade dessert—pause for a moment. Take your headphones off. Listen. The world has so much to say, and it’s worth hearing.